I don’t just write weird, sad blogs; I also write fiction. This is the prologue to the book I’m working on. Read it and share your thoughts, please. But gently.
NOW
I silently count to ten, then open my eyes and assess my surroundings just in case theyโd changed since the last time I checked. I had, after all, been known to see things that might not have actually been there.
White ceiling? Yep. I slowly turn my head to the right and then the left. White walls? Yep, again. I take a shaky breath in a pitiful attempt to quiet my brain, which is currently in full-on freak out mode. Since Iโm still shackled to the bed, thereโs nothing to do but panic so I prepare to start screaming for help. A quiet cough sounds from somewhere in the room. I look around frantically, and sigh when I spot her. Even trapped in what I assume is the nut house I canโt escape her. Staring at me from the chair in the corner in the room sits the girl who got me here โ my imaginary friend, Sage.
โI take it thereโs nothing you can do to help me,โ I say. She shrugs.
โYou know I would if I could,โ she starts.
โBut you canโt because youโre not real,โ I finish, ignoring the pain that flits across her face. Weโve been over this a dozen times before. I only said it to hurt her because I was still angry with her. I might be angry with her forever. โDo you think you can at least โ โ
โQuiet!โ She hisses, cutting me off. โClose your eyes. Someoneโs coming. If they hear you talking to me, theyโll just force more pills down your throat.โ
I do as she says, just as I always have because sheโs always right. I close my eyes and make my breathing slow and even, trying to ignore my thundering heart, hoping they canโt hear the blood rushing frantically and fearfully through my body like I can.
The door opens then closes, and I feel someone lean over me.
โCome now, love, no need to feign sleep! Youโre actually not very good at pretending.โ I hear the grin in his voice as he speaks and, forgetting myself, I open my eyes indignantly. At first glance, in his white coat and official-looking badge and stethoscope, I assume heโs the doctor but then I notice his shoes. Iโve never known a doctor to wear dirty Chuck Taylors on the job. Suspicious and a little afraid, I look back toward Sage whoโs staring at our intruder wide-eyed with shock.
โYouโre not the doctor, are you.โ Itโs not a question. He shakes his head and my panic grows. โI didnโt do anything wrong!โ
โGenerally speaking, sweets, Iโve found that when a person proclaimsย their innocence before theyโve even been accused of anything, theyโre probably guilty.โ
โWho are you?โ I whisper.
Dramatically, he whisks a key from his pocket with a โta-daโ flourish, smiles and says, โPardon me; I nearly forgot to introduce myself. Iโm Oliver Logan and Iโll be your hero today.โ
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